Snape's Reprieve
by StarDuchess
Summary: Snape wasn't prepared for the dying. He was even less prepared for the saving.


**A/N:** Written for Severus Sighs fourth anniversary Angstfest. Originally started for the Deathly Hallows 2 challenge: take a scene from the movie and spin it on its head. Sequel to "Snape's Detention" but can be read as a stand-alone.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine and no money is being made.

* * *

The battle rages. Minerva has not fully evacuated the student body, and I catch glimpses of students - _children_ - fighting grown witches and wizards. Some will die and others will be permanently disfigured or mentally scarred. That is counter to my vow to protect them all - except for Potter, of course, who cannot be kept from his fate. The impertinent brat confronted me in the Great Hall, reminding me of all my greatest failings. And damn Minerva for interfering! I would have just stunned Potter and run off with him to the Dark Lord. Instead she forced me to duel, with a slew of Order members and other teachers to back her up. This was not how the night was to go! So I fled, to be branded a coward once again.

But I must empty my mind of those things right now. I must focus on being a Death Eater, pretending to hurt and maim Order members and colleagues while secretly undermining my evil compatriots. Hogwarts crumbles around me, and I am sickened with the destruction. Blond hair flits through the corner of my eye, and for a moment I think it is Luna Lovegood on the field of carnage. It is with some relief that it turns out to be Lucius Malfoy coming to inform me of the Dark Lord's summoning.

I have no patience for Lucius. By following orders to attack children and torture them in his own home, he has lost any respect I might have had for him. Again, Ms. Lovegood comes to mind. No doubt she was starved and forced to endure unspeakable horrors during her recent stay in the Malfoy accommodations. Unlike others, she at least has the fortitude to withstand torture without breaking. Her spirit is different and, therefore, a successful attack upon it would have to be different as well. Nevertheless, I would have freed her from Malfoy's clutches if opportunity had presented itself. I would have freed them all. Unfortunately, my hands have been tied on a great many accounts.

For myself, I have occluded every minute of the day outside my own chambers. I could not afford to let slip even one compassionate thought. Now as I walk to my audience with the Dark Lord, this imperative reaches a peak. I do not know my fate nor for what purpose he calls me, but either way it will be unpleasant, the scraping, the groveling, perhaps a curse or two. And in the long run, either he wins, and I continue on in this capacity, saving those I can in the hope of a rebellion; or the Light wins, and I will be forced to justify my actions in front of a cold tribunal. I hold no illusions about obtaining a fair trial. It would be better to die in that case, and with any luck that will be _after_ I complete my mission, though there are no guarantees and I am running out of time. Damn Potter and his heroics!

I come to the boathouse where the Dark Lord has remained aloof from the battle. He is not hiding; rather, he holds no wish to fight. That is not why he is here. He has come for his final confrontation with Potter. Nothing and no one else matters. I know this and perhaps I can use it to gain allowance to go and search for his nemesis.

"My Lord, you wished to see me?" I say, bowing with reverence.

I remain steadfastly still, attuned to his every word, every maneuver. I am convinced a battle report is in order, so it shocks me when he asks about the wand in his hand. He says it won't obey him, that it's loyalty is elsewhere. I am unsure what he means. I have not studied wand-lore, after all. He then asks after my own loyalty, and this puts me in a much dreaded mood.

"With you, of course, my Lord," I answer as sincerely as I may. Long have I anticipated the day when he would begin to truly suspect me. Never did I suspect it would be today of all days, when we are fighting, when he is so close to his goal.

"The Elder Wand cannot obey me properly because I am not it's true master," the Dark Lord tells me.

I sense trouble ahead, but not what.

He continues, "The Elder Wand belongs to the one who killed it's last owner."

My emotional mind freezes, not wanting to examine this line of reasoning, but my analytical brain marches on toward the answer anyway. It's last owner was Dumbledore and it was I who killed him. Shite.

He walks towards me, not quite friendly, not quite menacingly, more curious than anything.

"You killed Dumbledore, Severus. While you live, the Elder Wand cannot truly be mine."

Double shite. Revelations course through my mind instantly. Everything falls into place, and I realise I have been set up by the man I admired most. Dumbledore must have known the Dark Lord would take the Elder Wand, and by arranging me to kill him, the wand's devotion would be transferred to me, not to the Dark Lord. But Dumbledore failed in the assumption that he would never discover the trickery, yet the Dark Lord has puzzled this out and now will kill me.

My death is near. I cannot stop it.

I am hit with his spell and fall backwards, them he orders Nagini to attack, just as he did with Arthur Weasley two years ago in the Ministry of Magic. But unlike Mr. Weasley, there will be no saviour to come to my rescue.

I don't fight back so much as spasm at the brutal onslaught. Truly there is no time to even react, much less attempt to cast spells, before the terrible searing of the venom invades my body. My head pounds the glass with each punch from the damned snake. Low guttural sounds escape my throat, and spittle lands on its head, unnoticed amongst my blood. After Nagini has her fun, she slithers back to her master, who Disapparates away with her.

I lie in agony, not just in body, but in mind and heart as well. I have failed. In so many things I have failed. I have failed Lily, in our friendship, in protecting her son. I have failed Dumbledore, not able to complete my mission. I have failed the students, who _were_ hurt under my care, some of whom might now be dying. The irony that I succeeded in tricking the Dark Lord of my espionage against him is of no consolation. It means nothing. All my life has meant nothing.

Miraculously, Potter appears before me. I have no idea how he knew to follow me here nor why, but for whatever strange reason, he actively works against my end instead of for it, although the effort is small and futile. I recognise this as a chance to finish my final task, but I grow weak and there is no time for long-winded discussions. There is no time for short ones either. Gathering all of my skills at Occlumency and Legilimency together, I focus on those memories he needs and release them as tears.

"Take them."

I am afraid he hates me enough not to listen, so I gesture at my eyes and urge him to obey me, just this once. "Please. Take them." Please, you imbecilic boy, just this one time, trust in Dumbledore's trust in me and heed my advice.

He does, miracle upon miracle, though it will be astounding should he actually view them. There is no comfort I can give him - his future is just as short as my own - but at least he will have a few answers and truth, which I have withheld from him for far too long. I look upon him and ask him to look back. I see all that I have lost in those green orbs, so very much like Lily's.

I say a goodbye of sorts; "... I love you." There. I don't know if anyone will ever understand, but I say it, for the first and only time in my life, not even sure who it's for but just the assurance to the world that I have loved. With a feeling of conclusion, I turn my head away and let myself fall into darkness.

* * *

I wake to violent coughing and freezing coldness. The venom still courses through my veins, but I can feel it slowly recede, much to my complete annoyance. I was positive I was dying.

I open my eyes to dirty surroundings, looking upon grimy wood planks and cobwebs attached to crates. Hands, small and delicate, pale and smooth, wipe away the sweat and blood and saliva pooled on my face. They press a compound to my lacerated throat which burns, and I heave a gasp. The wound stoppers up. Phials of potions are pressed to my lips, foul tasting things whose bitterness and sourness are a perfect accompaniment to my existence.

I drink and I recover, though my body can't stop its shivering and the pain is still unbearable.

"Relax, Headmaster," the voice of an angel tells me. "You're detention is almost over."

I look more closely at the figure hovering over me. An angel truly, all pale skin and hair and eyes, her voice sweet and soft and kind. No living person would treat me with such compassion, the traitor to both sides of the war. Only a being from the heavens would know enough and care enough to heal my wounds.

I reach up to touch her, but weakness overcomes me, and I only manage to raise my hand halfway. Instead, she takes my hand in one of hers and squeezes.

"The wrackspurts are all over the battleground, and it's not safe for you here. Once you are stabilised, I'll send you down the water."

What gibberish is this, down the water? Was she going to drown me for my crimes? Or was this some euphemism for prison? Apparently, she was not my angel after all.

I struggle in a desperate and pitiful attempt to get away.

"No. Hold. You'll only damage yourself further," she commands, and all the energy drains from me.

I collapse back to the floor, wondering what more await me.

She hums an old wizarding folk tune, Sanguine Amor - love in devotion, love in blood - and it somehow seems very apt, as she finishes her administrations. At last having done all she can to fix the wound and hinder the venom, she casts a warming charm then gets up and looks around. She wanders over to the water's edge and summons a small boat used for carrying two riders. She enchants it with direction and location charms, a cushioning charm, and a warming charm. I watch with mounting dread.

Satisfied, she comes back to me and casts a levitation charm. I can feel my eyes go wide and I struggle again as the knowledge comes to me that she means to place me in the boat, but I cannot move away. She sets me down into the boat.

"There, Headmaster. This will take you to a safehouse I know of, just down around a bend usually hidden by the faeries. But I know them and they will let you pass. Just stay there and sleep until I can come get you."

As she pushes the boat away, I get a better look at her features, and yes, dammit, it's Miss Lovegood. However she knew or what insights she has had this night I know not, but her calm demeanor is unsettling. She has always sensed far too much. Once again, as many times before, I fear for my future, but then she smiles at me as I drift away, and suddenly hope is returned to me.

"You've earned a reprieve, Headmaster. Perhaps there's a reward to be had as well."

She winks at me and turns away, skipping back in the direction of flashing lights and the sounds of battle that I just now notice coming from the castle. The war is still waging, but I no longer have a part in it, and that brings me a solace of sorts.

As the boat carries me away to her destination point, I cannot help but wonder at the outcome, at the fates of those fighting, at what will happen after Potter's death, at who will prevail. Either way I am uncertain of my place in the coming months, yet the future no longer appears as dark as it had before. Instead, a hint of dawning light appears, brought about by one young woman.

May she survive this night to return to me.


End file.
